War of the Werelords Read Free Page B

declared, laughing and tousling his friend’s hair. He wasn’t wrong, Drew had to agree: they shared the same dark looks.
    â€œMy father?” Drew teased.
    â€œI was thinking of a more charming, handsome, slightly older brother.” He clapped the youth’s back. “Come. They’re waiting for you on deck.”
    The heat was instant and punishing as they went up top, the
Maelstrom
’s decks bleached of moisture and color. There were few places to shelter from the sun’s fierce rays, and Drew instantly wrapped his kash around his face. Few aboard the pirate ship had gone without the Omiri headgear since they had sailed into the Sabre Sea, the kashes providing protection against the terrible heat, especially during the midday sun. But there was another reason why the young Wolflord wore the kash: the
Maelstrom
was anchored in the deeper waters of Denghi harbor, in view of the neighboring ships within the Bloody Bay. To be spotted by anyone sympathetic to the Lion could mean the end of the impending battle before it had begun.
    Drew was not the only one disguised. The
Maelstrom
had received a makeover: her pristine sails were replaced by tattered, patchwork affairs, her decks and hull cluttered with nets and lobster pots. The gun decks had been hidden away, her many shuttered windows dressed with planks and tarpaulins. For all intents and purposes she no longer looked like the dread vessel of the Pirate Prince of the Cluster Isles; she was a battered, oceangoing fishing ship, unremarkable in every way. Three more ships remained anchored around the headland, each wearing a similar nautical mask. Fully two hundred warriors from the Bastian port of Felos had been distributed among the vessels, the cuirass-wearing Furies hidden belowdecks, waiting patiently for their moment. Waiting for the bloodshed.
    A rowboat was being winched aboard, the seawater painting the deck wet as the boards thirstily soaked it up. Opal, the Pantherlady of Bast, stood with her back to the quarter mast, her dark form shrouded in robes and harsh shadow. Her bright eyes shone from within the slit of her kash, fixed upon Denghi, narrow and appraising, as she studied the Omiri port. She and Figgis, the
Maelstrom
’s first mate, were returning from a brief visit to the harbor’s bars and drinking dens. As Figgis spoke animatedly to Opal and jabbed a bony finger in the city’s direction, Florimo stood nearby, watching. The old navigator looked quite at home in the colorful Omiri attire, his now customary enormous pink feather drooping from his bandanna, befitting a Ternlord. The ship’s youngest crewmember, Casper, crouched at his bare feet, studying coastal maps under Florimo’s watchful eye. The cabin boy had only recently discovered he was a Werehawk, the son of Vega and a Hawklady, though the boy did not know the full story of his conception or who his mother was. The elderly Ternlord provided invaluable guidance for the boy as he slowly came to terms with his fearful avian abilities—guidance Casper’s father, the Sharklord, was ill-equipped to offer.
    â€œWhat did you discover in Denghi?” asked Drew as he joined Opal in the shade. “Is it as bad as it looks?”
    â€œWorse,” she said, her voice rich as honey. “Denghi is no longer neutral. Hayfa, the Hyena of Ro-Shan, claims the city as her own.”
    â€œThe road to Azra is hers, my lord,” added Figgis. “Doglords are welcome enough, but I doubt you’ll encounter a Jackal in Denghi.”
    The fabled city of Azra was home to King Faisal, the Werejackal of Omir. The true prize of the Desert Realm, this was the jewel Lady Hayfa had long desired. Not content with the coastal city of Ro-Shan, the Werehyena would stop at nothing until she had seized Azra. With Hayfa’s ally Lord Canan and his terrible Doglords controlling the lands as far north as the Bana Gap, Faisal’s hold on his homeland was looking